


on little cat feet

by museaway



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Transformation, Canon Universe, Castiel in the Bunker, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 11:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7800070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean fears Cas has been killed on a hunt when he discovers a small cat sniffing around the remains of his trench coat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on little cat feet

**Author's Note:**

> I joked about this on Twitter and somehow it got a lot longer than I intended! Thanks to Mr. Ackles for the Awkwardville quote. Perceived MCD for a second but no one is dead, I promise. 
> 
> I'm allergic to cats (among other things - like my puppies!). In this fic, Dean has my symptoms and takes the meds I do. The cat in this fic is based on a stray that visits my yard.
> 
> Un-betaed, so apologies for anything wacky.

Dean shouts a warning too late and the spell hits Cas like fireworks.

The witch doesn’t get another word out before Sam runs him through. The blade is rusted. Cas’s name echoes, a lamentation, through the moon-streaked forest.

* * *

Dean crouches in the dirt beside the charred remains of Cas’s coat and suit, still smoking from the blast. There’s nothing left of him–no blood, no skin, not even the usual stench of burning hair. With trembling fingers, Dean combs through the pile to retrieve Cas’s badge.

He feels a strange emptiness, hollowness in his chest. He squeezes the badge until it hurts, to make certain he’s still alive. The pain is real, and therefore so is he. He isn’t dreaming.

Sam has knelt down beside him and murmurs something. He puts a hand on Dean’s back and rubs the way you might console a child. There’s a sound Dean doesn’t recognize: a deep, horrible moan. Someone is sobbing. It takes a minute to realize it’s him.

He lets Sam console him, lets him drag Dean’s face to his shoulder.

* * *

“We should get going,” Sam says when Dean has quieted. The horizon is beginning to burn with morning and Sam walks toward it. Wordlessly, Dean stands up to follow. His eyes are dry. He gives a final glance to the ashes and gasps to find they’re being watched.

A small black and white cat, frozen above the coat in mid-sniff, stares at him. Dean stares back. The cat is missing a tail but appears in good health. It sits beside the pile, keeping its eyes on Dean, and when it tilts its head, some part of him just _knows_.

“Cas?”

The cat meows in seeming confirmation. Dean repeats his name, and again, the cat meows. Dean’s eyes rocket open in the face of exhaustion. He calls Sam back.

Sam listens to Dean’s theory with a look of pity.

“Dean, I know you want to believe that he’s not … ” Sam starts to say, but the cat plods to him and winds a figure eight around his ankles.

“Would he do that if he didn’t know you?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know,” Sam says carefully. “I haven’t been around many cats.”

“He doesn’t look like he lives outside. I haven’t seen any other cats in these woods. Have you?”

“It was dark.”

“Sam, if that’s Cas and we leave him here, we are _assholes_.” He gestures to the cat. “Just … talk to it.”

“Talk to it?” Sam repeats. Dean stares him down until Sam clears his throat and addresses their feline companion. “Um. Castiel?”

The cat responds immediately and Dean says, “Ha! See?”

Sam scratches his cheek. “Shouldn’t it … look like him?”

Dean takes a moment to consider. “Maybe it does. We’ve never seen what he looks like as an angel. Thing’s missing a tail; he’s missing his wings. Kinda.”

“I guess,” Sam says doubtfully.

Dean bends down and extends a hand for the cat to sniff. “Alright, buddy. We’ll figure this out, alright? Watch those claws. This is my favorite jacket.”

The cat doesn’t fuss when Dean scoops it off the ground. It can’t weigh eight pounds soaking wet.

“Are you sure you should be handling him?” Sam says.

“Jealous?”

“You’re allergic. And he could have fleas.”

“ _You_ could have fleas.” Dean stomps ahead on the trail back to where they stashed the Impala on the side of the road. “Think there’s a Walmart around here?”

“I saw one on the drive in.”

Dean carries the cat— _Cas_ —under his arm. He’s purring by the time they reach the car and Dean deposits him in the back seat.

“You’ve got a lot more legroom now, huh?” Dean says. Cas blinks. He bumps Dean’s hand with his head, and Dean lightly scratches between his ears. “We’re gonna fix this,” he says, more quietly.

He’d swear Cas nods.

* * *

Strolling through the aisles at Walmart, Dean convinces himself this temporary cat situation is going to be fine. The pharmacist recommends two different antihistamines to keep Dean’s allergies at bay for under $20, but then Sam insists on the pricey cat food that claims to provide twenty-five essential vitamins and minerals.

“It’s just for a couple days,” Dean argues.

Sam makes a face and adds a cat brush to the cart.  

Dean flushes. “Dude, I’m not _grooming him_.”

“I’ll do it. Pick out a litter box.”

“Can’t he … go outside?”

“Dean, you’re covered in blood on a regular basis. You’ll survive.”

“Shoulda left him in the woods,” Dean gripes but selects a $4 black plastic box and something that purports to be the World’s Best Cat Litter. He picks out a bag of grilled meat flavored cat treats and a laser toy ‘cause it’ll be hilarious to make Cas run in circles.

“Don’t forget a litter scoop,” Sam says. Dean turns preemptively green.

* * *

They sneak Cas into a motel. Sam gives him a thorough brushing and checks him for ticks (“I never knew you had a thing for him, Sammy”) while Dean surfs the web for information on transformation spells. He bites the end of a pen, unable to concentrate when Cas arches his back under Sam’s palm.

The litter box is as revolting as you’d think. Cas trots past, unapologetic. But it’s funny as hell to watch him wait for the laser light’s red dot to reappear from under the bed.

Dean instructs him to sleep on an old shirt he lays on the sofa so they won’t leave hair in the room, but he’s curled on the foot of Dean’s bed when he gets up.

* * *

To live with him, Cas as a cat isn’t that different from Cas as a human. He follows Dean around the bunker the first day home and still does the creepy staring thing, except now the creepy staring thing makes Dean feel guilty about Cas’s condition. He puts up with Cas watching him brush his teeth and shave, but feels awkward when Cas rubs against the front of his calf.

“Cas …”

They messed around in here once a few weeks ago, an unplanned tryst that started with the pretense of Cas helping Dean change his bandages and ended with Dean’s ass on the counter and his legs in a vise around Castiel’s waist. He’s not sure who started it, but he felt the burn of Cas’s stubble against his lips for a day. It hasn’t happened since and they don’t talk about it. Post-hunt adrenaline, Dean concluded. Or maybe Cas wasn’t as into it as he seemed.

He bumps Dean’s calf again.

“I’m not picking you up.” Cas leaps onto the bathroom counter. His eyes are gold in this form. Dean isn’t sure why that bothers him, since Cas’s blue eyes are really Jimmy’s blue eyes, but they’ve been Cas’s for so many years they’re his now, aren’t they? Cas’s body belongs to him, which means Cas’s eyes are blue, so it’s rational that Dean grind his teeth. He didn’t know he loved that color until now.

He holds still and stares at Cas long enough that Cas walks forward to headbutt him, nuzzling Dean’s cheek. His nose is cool and slightly wet. For a moment, Dean doesn’t breathe. Cas continues to rub against him. Maybe it’s not so strange to him, because he’s used to occupying a body that isn’t his. Despite the flush in his cheeks and neck, Dean is skeeved out.

“Cas … not while you’re like this.”

He sets Cas on the floor. He can’t look him in the eye. The next time he uses the bathroom, he shuts the door before Cas can follow him.

* * *

He doesn’t let Cas into his bedroom and is irrationally jealous the next morning to find him with Sam in the kitchen. Sam, nose deep in a thick leather book, points to the bottles of allergy meds next to the coffee pot.

“How is he this morning?” Dean asks.

“No change. I’m reading up on animal transformation, but so far it’s werewolves and familiars. This was done to him, so I assume we need a spell to reverse it.”

Dean gets coffee and joins them at the table. He swallows two pills: a tiny oblong white one, and a round yellow tablet twice its size. It tastes like chalk.

“Hey, buddy,” he says to Cas. “You sleep alright?”

“He slept in my room,” Sam says without looking up.  

“Should I leave you two alone?” Dean says acidly.

Pushing a frustrated breath through his lips, Sam shoves back from the table and gets up. He clears his breakfast dishes and pauses on the stairs to the hall.

“I’m going for a run. See if you can find anything in there.”

“Sorry,” Dean mutters. 

“I know you’re upset. We’re going to figure this out, but you need to keep it together.”

“Yeah.”

“He seems to understand us. Why don’t you try talking for once?”

* * *

Dean feels stupid talking to a cat. He reminds himself that underneath the whiskers and dander, it’s Cas looking back at him, but he can’t find the right words and decides watching television together is the next best thing. They’ll hit the books when Sam is back from his run. Cas joins Dean on the couch, kneading his thigh before settling next to him.

A couple minutes into an episode of House Hunters, he starts to purr. It’s nice, not having to wonder if Cas is happy right now. If being with them—with _Dean_ is enough.

He drops his hand to Cas’s head and strokes between his ears, slides his fingers gently over the curve of his neck and down his back. They never do this sort of thing as humans, these casual, familiar touches. Dean’s never had the guts to pat Cas’s leg, to hold his hand or throw a friendly arm around his shoulders when they sit together, but like this it’s easy. Expected. Cas is a cat and Dean’s supposed to pet him.

The allergy pills have made him woozy. He dozes off before the homeowners make their final selection.

* * *

Sam shakes him awake. His hair and shirt are soaked through with sweat, cheeks pink like he’s been through a windstorm. From the way he’s grinning, he may or may not have just taken a picture with the phone he not-so-stealthily hides in his pocket, of Cas snoring on Dean’s lap.

“Guess it really is Cas.” Sam’s mouth pulls into a smirk, so Dean flips him off to hide his blush. He replays Sam’s words.

“You’re still not convinced?”

“It’s not like he can talk, Dean,” Sam says more seriously. “The only way we’ll know for sure is if he changes back. I’m grabbing a shower.”

Another episode has started. Dean watches it through one eye, aware his right nostril has closed up and he feels the stirrings of a cough. It’s just for a few days, he reminds himself. Cas is the one who’s a frigging cat. Dean can stand a little discomfort on his behalf.

He resumes petting him, pleased when Cas begins to purr, a comforting rumble–like a tiny motor in his chest.

“I should call _you_ Baby,” he murmurs, then realizing the implication of his words, vigorously clears his throat. He has no idea how to talk his way out of that statement without sounding like an asshole or a teenager with a crush. Welcome to Awkwardville.

But Cas watches him calmly, through wide, amber eyes. Rather than scamper off, he tilts his head curiously, and Dean smiles.

“Maybe we could do this more when you’re back to normal,” he whispers.

Cas’s blink gives him courage. Dean settles a hand on his head.

“There’s a lot of stuff I’d like to do with you, if you want. If not, we can just pretend this conversation never happened. I’m leaving it up to you, okay? If you’re happy with the status quo, then …” He wipes his nose on his sleeve—gross. He ought to carry a box of tissues with him.

He and Sam spend hours in the library uselessly poring over books that hold no answers. As they approach dinner time, Sam’s hopeful expression has turned grim. He strokes Cas’s head apologetically. Dean blames allergies for his watery eyes.

* * *

Two days later, they’re no closer to finding an answer and Dean slept propped up on three pillows last night so he could breathe. A cough rumbles around his lungs. After a heavy breakfast, Cas is busy exploring the labyrinthine storage room, delicately picking his way around artifacts and scaling high shelves.

“Do you think he’s looking for something?” Sam asked earlier. “Maybe he knows how to reverse this.”

Dean’s been supervising the search for the past hour. Against his hip, his phone buzzes.

It’s an unknown caller from Kansas.

“This is Dean,” he says, grinning when Cas swats at a reflected beam of light.

“Dean. I had to dial your number from memory.”

The familiar, gravelly voice sends a jolt through him. Dean goes cold. His tongue darts out over his lips and he says, uncertainly, “Cas?”

“I apologize for not calling sooner, but when I got back to where you and Sam had been, you were gone. I panicked at first, but I saw your footprints. However, I surmised, given the state of my clothes, that you had assumed I was dead.”

The voice is definitely Castiel's—there's no question. The cat-that-is-apparently-not-Cas-after-all knocks over a figurine and Dean wonders what it says about him that he was willing to accept the thing as Castiel based on circumstance.

“Something like that,” he says with a weak laugh.

“I’d been transported several miles away and walked until I discovered a house. I’m embarrassed to say I stole pants and a shirt from a clothesline, but humans have a strange attitude toward nudity, which is odd, considering—”

“Where are you? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. A very kind man found me walking and offered me a ride. I’m at a truck stop in WaKeeney. I’m told it’s two hours from Lebanon.”

“Alright, sit tight. I’m leaving now. Don’t move until I get there, you understand?”

Cas promises he won’t and hangs up. Dean leaves the cat to explore and goes to find Sam. He’s in the kitchen cramming salad greens between two pieces of wheat bread in the name of lunch.

“You wanna take a ride?” Dean asks, scrubbing self-consciously at the back of his neck.

“Where to?”

He tells Sam about the phone call.

“Huh.” Sam looks surprised. “So the cat was just a cat after all.”

Dean rubs the ache gathering in his temple. “Are you coming or what?”

* * *

The drive takes under two hours. The truck stop is just off the interstate. Cas is standing in the shade against the building drinking a soda. He brightens when he spots the Impala and sighs deeply once he’s situated in the back. He willingly submits to the usual round of tests, rubbing the mark the silver blade left on his skin. They get back on the road immediately. Dean steals glimpses in the rear-view mirror.

Cas looks the way you’d expect a guy to look after he’s spent a few days hiking naked in the forest. Exhausted, for one: dark circles ring his eyes and he yawns every few sentences. The t-shirt would be too large for Sam and hangs off Cas like he’s molting. There’s dirt on his skin and in his hair and he smells ripe, like the outdoors. But Dean grins at his reflection like a fool.

Cas smiles back and Dean forgets to breathe for a heartbeat.

He promises to make burgers for an early dinner, shooing Cas to the shower room as soon as they’re home. The cat makes itself present for a few bites of food, then scampers off again–presumably to continue its expedition. Dean tries not to be injured by the lack of attention. Sam hovers over his shoulder like a bug while Dean cooks, postulating that it must’ve been an apportation spell the witch used on Cas.

“Ya think?” Dean says. “Cut up this onion.”

Twenty minutes later, the burgers are sizzling and Cas shuffles in barefooted, in a gray shirt and an old pair of jeans Dean had forgotten in the back of a drawer. Dean restricts him to the table, ordering him to drink a full glass of water before he’ll serve him. His foot accidentally bumps against Cas’s while they eat, but Cas looks so pleased by it that Dean doesn’t apologize. He takes Sam up on his offer to take care of the dishes and walks Cas to his room.

“Get some sleep,” Dean says, toeing the threshold. “I’ll make whatever you want for breakfast.”

Cas sighs and pulls him into a hug. “Thank you,” he says. Dean squeezes him once and pats his back, but when Cas doesn’t let go, Dean takes the opportunity to hug him properly, feel the hard press of Cas’s body against his, the heat of him through his clothes. Ever so gently, he cards his fingers through Castiel’s hair.

“I love you,” Cas says earnestly.

Dean stills in his arms. He opens his mouth several times but nothing comes out.

“You don’t have to say anything," Cas says. "I wanted you to hear it. We can talk tomorrow.”

He kisses the side of Dean’s face for a long time, then smiles and, extracting himself from the embrace, closes the bedroom door. Dean wonders if Cas can hear his heart pound through it.

* * *

Dean goes to bed giddy but by morning has convinced himself that Cas might not have meant what Dean hoped he did, so he’s restless. He vacuums the Impala. He scrubs down the kitchen and makes a grocery list. He freshens the litter box and puts out clean water for the cat-who-is-not-Cas.

There’s a church in town. Maybe one of the townsfolk will adopt it. It doesn’t even have a name now. He sits with it on the couch, watching the TV on mute until Cas gets up and joins him.

“When did we get a cat?” he asks through a yawn. He sets his coffee on the table.

“That’s a funny story,” Dean says. “See, we thought you were dead, and then this cat showed up sniffing around your coat, and looked at me the way you do.”

Cas narrows his eyes to squints. “You thought I’d been turned into a _cat_?”

It sounds ridiculous now that Cas says it out loud.

“Better than the alternative,” Dean says defensively. “Anyway, thing’s good company.”

“What about your allergies?”

“I got pills.”

“Can we keep it?”

Dean hears himself swallow. “If you want.” He studies his hands and clenches his jaw until it hurts. “Cas, about what you said last night …”

Cas sighs. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but the last few days have made me realize the importance of saying what I feel when I feel it. I don’t want to die with regrets. For the few seconds I thought you were dead …” With a touch to his jaw, Cas turns Dean’s face so they look at one another. “A cat would’ve been fine in those woods, but you took it home.”

“I wasn’t gonna _leave you_ ,” Dean says, then realizes the absurdity of his statement. “Not intentionally.”

But Cas isn’t upset. “You believed it was me, and you took me home even though, from your perspective, I’d been transformed into a species you dislike. You were willing to care for me anyway.”

“You’re family. I couldn’t stand the thought of you not being here, Cas. I don’t care what you look like.”

Dean’s chin trembles in Cas’s hand and he can’t blame the tears on allergies this time. He doesn’t want to die with regrets either, not if it’s as simple as this.

“I love you,” he says. “I don’t mean like a brother; I’m talking the kind with matching jewelry where we bunk together ‘til death do us part. All that crap. I want it with you.” Dean pauses for a breath. Cas’s eyes are soft. Dean wraps a hand around his wrist. “If that thing in the bathroom was a fluke, tell me, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering if we could’ve been more. I want to be more to you. What … what d’you say?”

As it turns out, Cas doesn’t have to say anything. He kisses Dean as frantically as he did the first time, but there’s a permanence to it. A certainty. Underneath the coffee and bitterness of sleep, Cas tastes of _home_ and _forever_. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (Dean's allergies will calm a bit with time. Probably. I don't sneeze around my dogs anymore as long as I don't forget my meds. Anyway, this is fanfiction so we can wave wands and say "yes absolutely he'll be fine.")
> 
> Originally posted [on tumblr](http://www.museaway.com/post/149054364735/i-joked-about-this-on-twitter-and-somehow-it-got-a) & based on [this tweet](https://twitter.com/museawayfic/status/763342524085899265).


End file.
